


Early In Our Morning

by MintSauce



Series: The Halfway House [22]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Sunday mornings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSauce/pseuds/MintSauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sundays are the best days. With no where to be, they can be whoever they want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early In Our Morning

“Draw me,” Ian says on a Sunday morning.

            Mickey snorts, rolls his cigarette between his fingers and watches the way the smoke curls up towards the ceiling. Ian frowns at him a little, he’s still trying to convince Mickey to cut down.

            “Why not?”

            Mickey stubs the cigarette out in the little pink ashtray Ian bought him as a joke one Christmas. He crawls across the mattress towards this stupid redheaded idiot, licks a line up his chest just to make him squirm.

            “I ain’t that good,” Mickey says, resting over him, elbows either side of Ian’s head. He lines their bodies up perfectly. When he breathes, he can taste the coffee on Ian’s breath.

            Ian’s mouth twists into a smirk, but his eyes are still soft. “Aww, Mick,” he says, fingers rubbing against the dimples at the bottom of Mickey’s back. “You don’t think you could do all this justice?”

            Mickey rolls his eyes, “Don’t be fucking stupid.” Honestly though, that is closer to the mark than he’d like to admit. He doesn’t know how to capture Ian on paper, doesn’t know how to make him look as beautiful there as he is when Mickey looks at him.

            Ian being Ian can tell exactly what Mickey’s not saying though and he blushes, kissing Mickey soft and then increasingly dirtier until Mickey is left breathless. He licks into Mickey’s mouth, drawing moans out of him like he’s paid to do it.

            He runs his hands up Mickey’s spine and drags his nails back down again. He slips his hands down to Mickey’s ass, fingers teasing along his crack for a minute before finally dipping between to rub against his hole.

            Everything is perfect in the laziness of Sunday.

            Neither of them have anywhere to be and so Sunday is their bed day. Sunday is when Mickey can stare at Ian stretched out naked and beautiful in the light filtering in through their window. Sunday is when he can rest his head on Ian’s belly and make him feed him toast and chocolate with sticky fingers. Sunday is when Ian can fall asleep beside him, with Mickey’s fingers brushing light touches all over his body. Sunday is when Mickey can count Ian’s freckles until he loses track and sucks the number he reached onto the nearest bit of skin he can find.

            Sunday is the best day.

            Sunday is the day when they can revel in their own specific brand of laziness, when Ian can open him up and fuck him slow, because there’s nowhere either of them need to be. There’s no need to rush anything.

            Ian rolls him over and follows the raised red lines his fingernails have made with his lips and tongue. He bites at Mickey’s ass cheek just to hear him yelp and then laves his tongue over his hole before Mickey can even get his breath back.

            Mickey for his part just lies there, face in the pillow and his ass pushed back. He tangles his fingers in the curls twisting atop Ian’s head and snarls bitten off curses through his teeth. He whispers Ian’s name as Ian’s tongue fucks into him and feels the other man’s laugh shake right through his body.

            When he tries to push up onto his knees, get some leverage, Ian forces him back down with a gentle, but firm hand splayed against the small of his back. He leaves it there and Mickey moves to grasping Ian’s wrist as he moves away to fumble for the lube.

            The fingers in his ass are probably the closest to finding heaven that any Milkovich is ever going to get. He groans out a long, low sound that seems like it’s been torn from some vital part of him and can’t help but murmur, “Come on, Ian, _come on_ ,” into the pillow.

            Behind him, Ian laughs and then finally there he is, pressing in.

            He covers Mickey’s body with his own, not even air between them as he rocks down into Mickey. It’s the best way to be trapped, with his dick rubbing off against the sheets and the firm muscle of Ian’s body caging him in.

            Ian’s arms slip under his armpits, hands forming fists either side of his head. Mickey can’t help put twist one hand’s fingers back into Ian’s hair, craning his own head around for a kiss that’s more tongue than anything else.

            It’s just as slow as any other Sunday, just as perfect.

            They just rock together and each small movement doesn’t punch the breath out of Mickey’s chest like they would do on another day, instead, this time they just seem to fill him up to the brim with everything he can’t begin to explain. He pushes himself back into Ian as well as he can, moaning around his words and Ian’s name and not being embarrassed of even a single second of it.

            “That’s it, baby,” Ian says to him softly, lips at his ear as Mickey’s voice starts to crack.

            Mickey tightens his hold in Ian’s hair and pushes his face into the pillow, eyes screwed shut as he comes.

            “You’re so good, Mick,” Ian tells him, face nuzzling between his shoulder blades as he grinds his cock down into Mickey’s body. Ian’s orgasm seems to stretch on forever, his body shaking above Mickey’s and his breath rushing out of him in a long gasp.

            He seems to zone out for a minute, eyes only focussing when Mickey turns onto his back underneath him. Mickey kisses the side of Ian’s face and then the top of his head when Ian scoots down his body slightly, falling asleep with his eyelashes fluttering against Mickey’s sternum.

            He really is beautiful, eyelashes tipped gold in the sunlight and hair a gorgeous mess on top of his head. He’s something that Mickey could stare at forever and honest to God plans to.

            It’s with that thought in his mind that he does try.

            He slips out from underneath Ian as carefully as he can, putting his pillow under Ian’s head and smiling when the redhead cuddles into it immediately. He pads through to their living room space and returns with the sketchpad Ian bought him the day after Mickey had admitted to considering the whole tattoo idea.

            The idea had originated when Mickey had been drawing things for Ellie. His ability to draw had been a well-kept secret up until then, but he didn’t so much mind Ian finding out. Or Mandy, he supposed.

            “ _You should be a tattoo artist,” Ian had suggested._

_Mickey had shrugged, “Had used to want to be actually.”_

            From there Ian had been like a dog with a bone, reading up about the options Mickey had and sticking the print-outs up around the apartment. Still, Mickey supposed it had worked in the end, since Mickey was now working towards it and all.

            He sat at the foot of the bed, sketchpad in his lap and eyes focussed entirely on Ian’s sleeping form. The pencil made just the slightest of scratching noises as he moved it across the paper. He didn’t even really have to think about it, just as he didn’t most things when it came to Ian.

            He just drew, carefully shaping the curve of the small smile on Ian’s face, marking each freckle across the backs of his shoulders precisely. He only wished he had something other than grey to work in, wanting to add the touches of colour to Ian’s hair.

            It was probably for the best though, he wouldn’t even know how to begin to draw the way the sunlight was playing across his skin.

            Mickey didn’t know how long he’d been at it and he was so lost in his own head and the sketch pad that he didn’t jolt out of his daze until Ian’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. “I’m not that beautiful,” he comments, nose brushing right behind Mickey’s ear and his lips grazing Mickey’s skin as he spoke.

            To his credit, Mickey only jumped slightly.

            He set the sketchpad down on the bed and stared down at what he’d drawn. He smiled, “Yes you do.”

            He figured it was safe to be a sap on Sundays.

**Author's Note:**

> Get your coat, love.... you've pulled ;)
> 
> [themintsauce](http://themintsauce.tumblr.com)


End file.
